Danger Will Robinson.

My boys are going skiing with their dad this weekend which means I'll be alone. Alone with my tooth ache. Yes, after three days this root canal business still hurts. On the good side, I tossed the pain meds Dr. Dang -- Dang it, Dr. Dang; it still hurts! -- gave me because they gave me a headache and a belly ache and I've always had a leetle problem with pain meds. On the bad side, I was in such agony last night, Big Guns gave me one of his pain pills. It was great at first; I felt the pain subside and loved everyone and everything in the room. To me, the world is just beautiful shrouded in a narcotic haze. Dust bunnies! Chihuahuas! Cell phones even! This feeling was closely followed by the panic that it would go away some day -- maybe even in the next five minutes! -- and I would need another pill and then another one and that, my friend, is my addict talking.

This must be what it's like for food addicts who can't give up eating all together but have to learn to moderate. Moderation. Another foreign concept to me. I've never done anything in moderation, even things that are good for me. (If running five miles feels good, ten must be even better.) I see these tendencies in my baby who will decide to finish twenty pages of math homework when only two are required just because more is ALWAYS better.

I'm helping Big Guns move this weekend. He's an addict, too, so he won't feed me pills. In fact, he does this business of asking me all these questions in the hopes of helping me live in integrity. "Are you OK holding on to that bottle of meds?" (Actually, I just like to stroke it and hear its comforting rattle in my purse.) "Will an ice pack suffice instead?" (Yes, sweetie, but only if you stick it in your ear.) Those kinds of questions. It's so fun being me! And being with me!